


If The Fates Allow

by ladyknightley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightley/pseuds/ladyknightley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after Arthur is attacked at the Ministry, Percy bumps into an old flame in the street. But fate works in funny ways, and it's not Penelope he ends up spilling his heart to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If The Fates Allow

**Author's Note:**

> This makes reference to Percy/Penelope but isn't a shippy fic (or an anti-fic. It's just...there, in the background. Like all failed relationships. Oh boy!) The title is from 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas'.

“Percy?”

“Penelope?”

“Oh my goodness, I can’t _believe_ it’s you!”

It was not, Percy reflected, that unbelievable. They both lived and worked in London, close to Diagon Alley, and it was likely that they would bump into each other at _some_ point. Really, the strange thing was that they had been broken up for almost a year and _not_ met each other until now.

“How _are_ you?”

“I’m...I’m very well,” lied Percy. “How are you?”

“I’m great!” Penny chirped. “I can’t believe how long it’s been—what have you been up to? How’s life? And your family?”

“Everything’s great,” he said as cheerfully as he could. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she, who had once known him so well and could read his every mood, was completely taken in by this, and beamed at him.

“I’m so glad,” she said, and sounded it. He tried to concentrate on the dimple in her left cheek that appeared when she smiled at him—the dimple he’d spent months composing odes to, the one that made him think she might just be the most beautiful woman ever to have lived—and not thoughts of...of the news he’d received late last night.

“Do you have time to get some lunch?” Penelope asked hopefully. “I was just heading out, there’s an absolutely divine café round the corner from here, I discovered it on something like my second day because the food at Gringotts is literally all Goblin food, it’s disgusting, but here—”

“I’ve got time for lunch,” Percy said, interrupting the flow of words. Of course he had time for lunch. They’d encouraged him to take as much time off as he needed, to visit his father, then come back and tell them _exactly_ what he’d been up to, sneaking around the Ministry at night with a giant snake. It was embarrassing, really.

And his father had nearly died. And he still wasn’t speaking to him. And he’d nearly died.

He tried not to dwell on that, listening instead to Penelope who was chattering away happily about people they’d known at school. They walked down the street together, past crowds of Christmas shoppers and carol singers. Penelope was wearing a cloak of deepest green that matched the huge tree in the centre of Diagon Alley, and all the shop windows glistened with tinsel and treasures. He wondered how she—how _anyone_ —could be so happy after what had happened.

Bill’s note had said that Dad had been mortally injured. That he should come, _now_ , because this was looking like this might be it. And Percy hadn’t trusted his brother, unsure if the note was real, or if Bill or any of his other siblings wanted to trick him somehow. _“Come to St. Mungo’s, Percy, so we can mock you even more! Even Dumbledore, who we’ve all decided to trust blindly like he isn’t responsible for sending your two favourite Uncles to their deaths, might turn up to punish you for not believing a deranged child when he says that Lord Voldemort is back! We heard the news the other week, that you’ve got another promotion. Well, we’re here to tell you that you don’t deserve it, that you can’t take it, and you’re doomed to live in poverty for the rest of your life like your nonentity of a father!”_

So he’d burned the note, ignoring his brother, and turned up to work at half-past seven to find whispers and rumours following him all morning. And then Fudge himself had come to him, asked if he knew, had he heard, and the _embarrassment_ at hearing what his father had been up to, sneaking around the Ministry at night—

And then he remembered Bill’s note. _Mortally injured. Come now_. He’d sent that hours ago. And no word since—

And then, like he’d wished it into being in his terror, another note, Bill’s writing again. _Dad okay. Don’t bother coming._

The fact that all this had happened, and Christmas could still be a concern for people, was close to unbelievable.  

* * *

Penelope led him into a warm, cosy café. She’d been happy to chatter away about mutual friends and new acquaintances, and all that had been required of him was to nod and agree or offer some vague comment in response to the constant stream of words. In its own way, it was quite soothing.

“Anyway,” she said, as she led him to the table. “I’ve gone on and on and on, I’m so sorry. How are _you_ , what are you up to now?”

“Well,” he said, “I got a promotion. I’m now Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself!” Despite everything, he couldn’t help the note of pride that entered his voice.

“Oh wow, Percy! That’s fantastic!” Penelope beamed. His ex-girlfriend could be happy for him, a part of him noted, but not his own family. “Really, well done. You’ll be Minister by February I’ve no doubt!”

“Of course not,” he laughed, shrugging off the joke, but a part of him thought—what if he was? Not by February, but at some point. They’d have to talk to him then...

“And your family? How are they?”

He shouldn’t have kept thinking about them, he thought furiously. It was like he’d been daring Penny to mention them, and now she had. “They’re good,” he said shortly.

She looked up from her menu, finally clocking that something, somewhere wasn’t quite right. “Are you—” she began, but just then, their waitress arrived. She was a youngish woman, about the same age as the two of them, and she looked vaguely harassed as she pulled a pencil and notepad out of her apron. “What’ll it be, guys?”

Penelope smiled at her and ordered something he didn’t hear, and Percy distractedly asked for the same. A man with red hair pulled back in a ponytail had just walked past the window, and he’d thought for a moment it was Bill.

“So, anyway,” Penelope said, once the waitress had gone. “Did I tell you the latest about Jenny Stebbins?”

“No,” Percy said, injecting as much enthusiasm as he could into his voice. “But please, do tell me everything. I would simply love to hear all the gossip.”

Penelope laughed, launching into the story.

As she spoke, Percy’s eyes wandered again, searching down Diagon Alley for the red-haired person he’d seen. If it was Bill, he might be able to tell by how he looked, how he acted, what had happened, what further news—he’d managed, after all, to get an O in his Divination OWL just by being able to read people’s bodies, not their minds, and if he could just see Bill—and he could, and _was_ him, and there was another person there with him, a blonde woman who looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her; she had the most beautiful face he’d ever seen, but it was sad, confused, anxious, like it was hurting for Bill, and maybe, well, this must be the latest in his string of girlfriends, but then she smiled, and embraced him, and he sank into her but it was with relief, so things with Dad must be going okay—

“Your sandwiches?” The waitress, clutching their plates, was looking at him with some concern, and so, he realised belatedly, was Penny.

He blustered an apology, to which woman he wasn’t sure, and the waitress left. “Are you okay?” Penelope asked.

“Of course, of course,” he said dismissively.

She didn’t look convinced. “I wasn’t boring you, was I?”

“Of _course_ not,” he said, trying to sound more genuine. “Do carry on, in fact. You were saying about Jenny?”

“Oh, yes,” said Penelope, picking the crusts off her sandwiches. It had been a habit she’d had for years, and he’d found it sort of sweet and endearing, but today it irritated him. She was twenty, now, too old for poor table manners to be excused. If his mother had been here, she’d have been horrified—

He dismissed that thought.

Penelope was still chattering away about Jenny Stebbins, and he suddenly felt a rush of claustrophobia, even though the café was half-empty. How could she talk so much about all these boring people? She was going on and _on_ about this woman’s love life, this woman he’d apparently been to school with, but he had no idea what she looked like, or even if they’d been in the same classes...

“So, anyway,” Penelope said, giggling, “Jenny said to him ‘I’d rather be with a mountain troll!’, and then she just tipped her Butterbeer all over him, and it was _incredible_!” Percy forced himself to laugh along with her. “Anyway,” she added, taking a sip of her tea, “I have gone on more than enough. Tell me about yourself. How are your family?”

It was, he noted, the second time she’d asked him about them, and he’d been clear that he didn’t want to talk about them before. Had she always been this obtuse, or was he only noticing it now that he wasn’t in love with her anymore? Had he ever, he wondered, been in love with her, truly, or had he just thought her cute and sweet, and been flattered by the attention? Her little tics and quirks, like her refusal to eat crusts, or ability to tell long and winding stories about nothing of interest, had been endearing, then, but now...

“They’re well,” he said, because it was broadly true. “Although, truthfully, I haven’t seen much of them lately.” He drew himself up importantly to explain this, should she ask, but she just nodded.

“Oh, I know,” she said sympathetically, and he started. “I’d never have thought it would be so hard, especially with magic when you can just travel whenever! But I’m so _busy_ these days. I mean, I love it, I really do. Work is great, and I’ve just bought a flat, did I tell you? A super cute little place up in York, so it’s not too far from Upper Flagley, which is nice, because on the weekends...”

The conversation rolled on again. He risked a look out of the window, but Bill and the mysterious blonde were long gone.

“Anyway, that’s the nice thing about Christmas, isn’t it?” said Penelope. “Getting to go home for a few days and seeing your family and everything. Only ten days, eek! I bet you’re really looking forward to it.”

“Absolutely,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “What are your plans?” he asked, before she could press him further.

“Well, we’re going up to Mum and Dad’s the day before Christmas Eve, and we’ll stay there ’til the day after Boxing Day, and that’ll be just lovely,” Penelope said. “Then,” and here, she stuttered slightly, a faint glow appearing in her cheeks, “then I’m going to Delhi for the New Year. That’s in India.”

“I know,” he said, then realised by her startled expression that he might have been a touch too snappish. “I mean, why are you going there?” He realised, then, that the reason her voice had changed was because she couldn’t seem to stop herself from smiling, constantly, and it was making her sound...happy. She sounded happy.

And suddenly, he knew what she was about to say before she said it, and he fixed his face into a suitable expression just before she spoke.

“Well, I’ve met this guy,” she said, and the blush deepened. “He works at the bank, he’s come over from India for a few years to work here and we’ve...we’re together. So we’re going out to see his family for New Year and...it should be great!”

“It should,” he agreed. “India is meant to be a beautiful country; I’d like to go myself one day. I hope,” he added, and despite everything, he found himself meaning it, “that you both have a wonderful time.”

She smiled at him then, a true, genuine smile, the one he remembered, and he suddenly missed her, and them, and his old life so overwhelmingly terribly that he thought he might cry right there and then. “Thank you,” she said. “I must introduce you to Aditya at some point, I think you’d both get on really well.”

 _Because we’ve both left our families?_ he almost asked, but bit it back in time. Aditya had left for work (so had he, a small voice said, but he quietened it), and he was welcome back to his home at any time. He, Percy, was not. “I’d love to meet him!” he said instead, and Penelope smiled again.

“We’re actually having a housewarming next week,” she said. “I’ll write down the address for you, look, but it’s next Friday, seven til whenever. There’ll be work people there, but also a few of the old crowd. It’d be great if you could make it?”

It was a nice gesture, he thought. “I’ll have to consult my diary,” he said, “but thank you very much for the offer. I will try to make it.”

“Good,” she said, “it’s been lovely to catch up again. I always think our lot from school should make more of an effort to see each other, not let things fall by the wayside, you know?”

He nodded. He wouldn’t go. Maybe one of his old schoolfriends would’ve heard about his Dad—Helena Swanwick was training to be a Healer at St Mungos; Josh Mallard worked on the same floor as his father at the Ministry; he might see them there and he could ask—nothing. He wouldn’t even know where to begin. He imagined himself asking Helena if she’d heard anything about his father, if she knew if he would be okay. Or what he’d been up to.

She would never say anything, he realised. There was patient confidentiality to think of. Though that was different if it was family, wasn’t it? Could Healers tell blood relatives what they knew? Did that mean, if he ended up in hospital, the Healers could tell his parents what his prognosis was? If he ended up in hospital, would his parents come?

He knew the answer to that.

“Anyway, lovely as this has been, I must get going,” Penelope said now. She slid a piece of parchment across the table. “My address. I know your work is super important and everything, but it would be lovely to see you, if you can get the time off.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and she smiled.

Penelope smiled a lot. He should maybe try that, too.

There was the usual polite argument over the bill, then she stood up. “I’ll stay a while,” he said, when she asked if he was coming. “Extended lunch today—may as well make the most of it!”

“Of course,” she said, then waved him goodbye.

He needed a moment. Or perhaps several hours.

He needed to be sure Bill was gone.

He needed her to leave, in case he saw her with her new boyfriend on her way out. They’d been broken up for over a year, and he was genuinely happy that she’d found someone new. He’d always liked Penelope, and their break-up had been amicable when they’d both simultaneously realised their relationship probably wouldn’t last five minutes outside of school. But it still sort of felt like a punch in the gut, knowing she’d met someone else, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

His father, he thought, would probably know. He’d know what to say to make him feel better, or what to do. He’d take him down to the shed, show him some muggle contraption or other, and they’d marvel over how it worked together until all thoughts of Penelope and Aditya were pushed from his mind.

Percy thought of his Dad in the hospital, and closed his eyes. He wished things were different.

* * *

He stood up suddenly, sure Penelope and Bill were long gone, pushing his chair back—and he crashed into someone. There was a small shriek, and a clatter, and that sudden, heavy silence that occurs when everyone stops to stare at what’s happened. He forced his eyes open, forced himself to look at what mistakes he’d made now, and saw the waitress from before crouched on the floor, sweeping up several broken pieces of crockery into a dustpan.

“I’m so sorry,” he said at once, bending down to help her. “I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

He found himself looking straight into her big brown eyes, and she smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s okay.” And he very nearly cried, then, because no one had said that to him in such a long, long time.

“Are you sure?” he asked, once he’d got himself under control, but he thought that maybe she had seen something in him, because her voice was even kinder as she reassured him.

“We have breakages all the time,” she said, “and no one was hurt, and, look, no one is even paying us any attention anymore.” It was true: after the crash from the plates and cups falling to the floor, conversations had suddenly started up again, and people were talking together. “Besides,” the woman added, with a small laugh, “it’s Christmas. Well, almost. No hard feelings.”

Percy picked up the handle of a broken cup, and placed it in her dustpan. “No one was hurt,” he repeated softly, and the woman, the waitress, nodded.

“That’s true.”

“Last night,” he said, because he could say to her what he hadn’t managed to say to Penelope. “Last night. My Dad. He was attacked. And now he’s in the hospital.”

The woman met his eyes again, and this time, in those deep brown pools, he could see genuine sadness and empathy for him, and he tried not to think about how little he deserved that. “I am so sorry,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears too, and he could tell that she meant them, meant her sorrow, even though his father had enough people to care without her, and he didn’t know how to be sad. “That must be horrible, for you both.”

He swallowed, hard, then gave a brief jerk of his head, before standing up. She followed suit, and he noticed, as she did so, that she was almost as tall as him. It was funny; he had never seen her before, he was sure, and yet she seemed strangely familiar.

“I hope,” she said, “that he makes a full recovery.”

“They...they think he’s going to,” Percy managed. She smiled then, and he felt like because this stranger was genuinely glad that his father would get better, he _would_ be fixed.

He looked down for a nametag on her front, and saw her stiffen, and realised what it looked like. He coloured, drawing his gaze back up to her face. “Thank you for your well wishes, Miss...Audrey.”

She smiled, and he hadn’t realised how much he missed that until she did it again. “You’re welcome,” she said. “And—Merry Christmas!”

Percy smiled then. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, and then he made his way over to the door.

He was halfway down Diagon Alley before he realised what was most strange about her: that he had not once seen her with a wand, even when she had been sweeping up the broken crockery. All the time, she had been sweeping, cleaning or working by hand without magic, even though she was on the most magical street in Britain.

And he was almost back at the Ministry before he realised that, although he knew her name, she did not know his. And it struck him as a great shame, because—and he was at his desk before _this_ thought occurred to him—thinking about her had stopped her worrying about his father for the first time since he’d heard about the incident.

There was something about her, that was for sure. Audrey whatever-her-name-was. Maybe, in the New Year, he’d learn what it was.     


End file.
